Achic hotel, gourmet food, a tour on the ancient Nile River with a few stops to visit the legendary temples built by the pharaohs of Egypt during thousands of years, extraordinary legends about love, power, and betrayal accompanying each of these temples. These were built in honor of the aspects of the many-sided God of the Sun, Ra, or other gods and pharaohs themselves. There were pyramids where pharaohs were buried together with their wives, servants, and wealth, and the Sphinx, whose nose was first shot off, not by troops of Napoleon as many believe, but by the order some zealot Mamluk in 1380 AD.
A declaration of love in an exotic land. Wasn’t it all like a tale from The Thousand and One Nights?
Hospitable Egyptians were drumming up business, calling us into their shops, treating us to cold or hot hibiscus tea in the hopes that we’d buy something in their stores. In one of these, Mike and I went to get souvenirs for friends before leaving Egypt.
It was December 25. In a distant, unknown world American people were celebrating Christmas. We went shopping for souvenirs. In one of those stores, with millions of beautiful bottles of various shapes and sizes, hundreds of species which had been pressed into fragrant oils, Mike asked, “Polina, can you wait for me here, please? I need to go with the owner of the shop for ten minutes. This is his brother, Mahmed.” Mike introduced me to another dark-skinned man in a long gray galabeya. “He will stay here with you.”
Should tell you honestly, I got so scared that my hands went numb, my head went dizzy, and my stomach felt nauseous! This was it! Tomorrow morning we were supposed to fly home early. Here it was—the price of love. It was a trap for foolish, old, homely women such as me. He brought me here as goods, then he sold me and now was leaving me all alone without money or documents. He would fly away and these men would use me in all possible ways. I’d heard of many such cases.
God, I prayed, what was I supposed to do? Did I yet again get myself into a big mess? One I’d never get out of? He’d had a wonderful time, and now just wanted to get rid of me. Of course he sold me! It was my own fault. I had asked for it myself: “if someone suffers from it then stop it now.” So there it was. Everything would stop. In my head the pictures appeared more and more horrible. Every minute I was expecting Mahmed himself or one of his co-conspirators to seize me, tie me up, or hit me. I stood, rocklike, in the middle of the store, unable to move. I was afraid that there were secret doors, which were plenty in number in pyramids all over this country.
And what did I expect? People told you, “look in the mirror!” I cursed myself up hill and down dale. An idiot! Lived long enough to get gray hair, but still naive as a kid! They say wisdom comes with age. But sometimes age comes alone. That was on the mark for me.
I mustered up my nerve. I had nothing to lose, for he that is born to be hanged shall never be drowned. Mahmed was sitting quietly at the table and drinking his tea. He invited me to join him, but afraid he might put some poison or sleeping pills in it, I refused. He did not insist. Minutes passed. Nothing was happening. I calmed down a bit. And then the shop owner came back with Mike. Happiness streamed from his face.
The shop owner was also smiling, and together with his brother they gave me kind, even admiring looks. Sizing up the situation, I decided never to tell anyone about the horrible ten minutes I’d experienced in the distant, foreign country of Egypt, standing alone in a small perfume shop. In fairy tales, terrible episodes happen also.
Mike came up to me, took my hand, and looked into my eyes.
“Are you cold?” he asked, seeing that I was trembling like an aspen leaf.
“Yes,” I lied.
“Are you sick?” I could hear disturbance in his voice.
How could I think so badly of him? Again I began to curse myself. What else should I have thought? I don’t know this man! It’s really only the third time in my life I’ve seen him.
“I hope not,” I replied. “Shall we?”
“Let’s go.”
We said goodbye to the Egyptian brothers and, hearing their congratulations when we were leaving, I thought that was for Christmas day. Mike kept my hand in his and was squeezing it tight.
“Here we are.”
I looked up and saw Sultan Jewelry Store. He probably wants to buy me some jewelry for Christmas, I thought. Well, perhaps, I should let him do that. After all, it was the third time we had spent some days together.